


Polar Night

by mintpearlvoice



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Give Quiet An Actual Bra 2k18, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 13:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14045688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintpearlvoice/pseuds/mintpearlvoice
Summary: Everyone thinks Quiet is dead. Then she turns up in Norway during a month without sunlight- captured, weakened, and defiant as ever, and Venom Snake falls for her all over again.





	Polar Night

"Hey, uh…"

How did you finish that sentence? Hey, real me? Hey, man I'm just a phantom of? Hey, Boss?

How many people had the experience of seeing their face- their exact face- staring back at them, and not in a mirror? Could anyone really identify with the body they posessed, with what other people thought of them, when it was so easy for one's identity to be erased? He covered his momentary confusion up by clearing his throat.

"Phantom. Good to hear from you." The figure emerging from shadow and static nodded; perfectly self-possessed, utterly cool. "I have some intel to share from one of my informants about a certain sniper."

A single muscle in Venom's jaw barely twitched. Inside, he wanted to scream with rage.

Emotions were like sheep. Fulton them out of the combat zone and wave them goodbye if you ever brush past them again. You had to be good at that to survive so many wars. He figured the original Big Boss was the same.

Except Quiet had been different. The woman who'd killed like a hardened assassin and played in the rain like an innocent child; who'd slit hundreds of throats to save him, but jumped into chlorine gas for a stranger's keepsake. The memories of her were like a knife stuck in his back. Pull it out, let himself feel, and he'd bleed to death. But every breath twisted it deeper. He'd had troops combing the desert where she disappeared, scanning every sun-bleached bone they found for traces of her DNA. If he knew she was dead, he could forget her. Forget what they'd shared. Now it seemed at least the world would offer him that measure of twisted solace.

"What is it you know?"

"Take a look at this footage our double agent copied from a local security camera. Anything look familiar?"

Static. Darkness. Then, a military base on a snow-covered landscape. Troops in uniforms marched before eerie architecture, passed over harsh, jagged cliffs, and saluted each other with robotic precision.

"This is somewhere near the Arctic Circle. Whether it's my memories or yours, I recognize the area."

"It's a paramilitary organization. Norwegian white supremacists. But I didn't take up your valuable time just to ogle some racists with nice guns. Let me fast-forward the footage…"

Four soldiers pushed a transport stretcher trolley from one building to another. They moved right past the security camera, which seemed to be built into a streetlight. The sheet slipped from the patient on the trolley, allowing Venom to see her face.

Her face.

She'd lost weight, and her lips were blue; he'd know her as mist, her face streaked with parasites, covered in mud or blood or burns. Pausing the image, he let his control slip for a moment. Let himself touch the screen. "Yeah. Boss, it's… her."

 

 

Venom Snake was curled under a camoflage thermal blanket, but only his long years of training- both muscle memory in his own body and scenes from his implanted memories- allowed him to ignore the cold. His every breath came out as stifled steam, and the air hurt his lungs. How could people live in a climate like this? Heat, humidity, hell, even malaria you could put up with. But in the sterile ice of this land, it seemed like the wind itself was trying to strip the flesh off everyone he touched. Pulling out his binoculars, he watched a guard begin his patrol. When the man was far enough from his comrades, he took a single perfect shot. Clean. Right through the head. That would attract attention while he extracted… the prisoner.

I won't get my hopes up. It might be a clone- she might be dead. Concentrate only on the mission, he told himself.

He moved from snowbank to snowbank for cover, also using empty tanks and four-wheel-drive vehicles. A localized energy pulse took out the computerized lock on the door. According to his intel, this sterile research facility was where the group kept 'special' prisoners. Crouching and staying close to the wall, he moved stealthily until he saw a scientist checking a clipboard. He snuck up to the scientist and pressed a loaded syringe to their throat. "If you breathe like you're going to scream, you'll be dead before the air reaches your lungs. Where are you holding the prisoner? I'll know if you're lying." Sometimes his reputation- the Boss's mythical abilities, the rumors that had sprung up around his operations- did most of the work for him.

"That hallway…" The scientist, who was sweating, pointed with a trembling finger. "First room… on the left…"

Venom stabbed the scientist and kept moving before his body hit the ground.

 

 

He growled in fury when he realized the full extent of what had been done to her. It was the middle of the day by his watch, but the light trickling down through thick clouds was weak as dawn.Swaddled in a tightly zipped sleeping bag, she looked pale and exhausted.

Of course, he thought- there isn't enough sun for her here, and they wouldn't care about what nutrients she can't get from photosynthesis.  She's been starving. And the cold? I'm fully dressed and I feel like my balls are going to freeze off. Every moment she was here, she's had to choose between feeling like she can't breathe and losing feeling to the icy weather. Once they were clear of the base, he tossed in a few grenades. He'd sabotaged the vehicles when he'd used them as cover, and grinned mercilessly as the building went up in flames and screams. The people who hadn't died in the explosion would be picked off by the cold. It was more or less what they deserved.

 

Quiet felt lighter than usual in his arms. His body, the body of the man he'd been before Venom Snake, knew what to do the moment they reached the helicopter.

She's not shivering anymore- moderate to severe hypothermia at the very least, he thought. Her soft skin felt cold, and her small hands were like blocks of ice.

"Initiate warmed, humidified oxygen; provide heated intravenous saline; and place warmed blankets or heat lamps around a hypothermic patient…"

As soon as the helicopter was up and running, he tore off the sleeping bag, practically ripping it in two. Experimentally, he pinched the back of her hand; yeah, she was really dehydrated. Those assholes probably hadn't realized that she drank mostly through her skin. He winced at the way her ribs showed under her sports bra. (She'd gladly shed the outfit XOF had forced her into in favor of a top that actually supported her considerable… military assets, as well as some cropped shorts with many pockets.)

 

Even in sleep, exhaustion and terror shrouded her impossibly innocent features. She trembled slightly against him, letting out a single choked whimper. He stroked her sweaty hair, a gesture he knew he'd never allow himself if she was awake. "It's okay. I got you."

"Tashtego," he called to the helicopter pilot. "As soon as we're clear of the base, switch to autopilot. Help me get these sun lamps set up."

 

The cold and dehydration had constricted her veins; someone with less medical experiences would have gone crazy trying to get an IV in her, especially because she was unconscious and couldn't make a fist. He stuck her easily on the first try. The warm saline solution would help raise her core temperature. Soon they also had all the sun lamps turned on. Making wordless, miserable noises, she shifted on her cot as her body began to shiver again.  He wanted to take her in his arms, but to someone with their past and their reflexes? Any surprise touch got treated as an attack. The last thing he wanted was to scare her further. God only knows what she's been through.

No, he corrected himself. God knows. And he turned his face away in shame at the actions of his merciless renegade daughters and sons.

 

Quiet couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this good.

She'd been so cold, wanting only to get warm- needing air she couldn't get, every inch of her skin taut and aching. They weren't inventive torturers, but through mere ignorance of what her body was, she'd been close to death. Now pure brightness hit her skin.

More... I want more. Feeling was starting to creep back into her fingertips; it was the work of a moment to unclasp her sports bra and kick off her cargo shorts and briefs. She basked and stretched, luxuriating as her body healed itself, dragging her exposed skin over the warm, soft blanket. Whoever had gotten hold of her now, they wanted to win her trust. She'd play along and act clueless- after all, if they'd known she'd been captured after her arms dealer tipped the white supremacists off, they must think she was pretty stupid.

I'm not really awake... just going to lie here, stretch, make sure all my major muscle groups are working...

It felt so good to be in the light again. A gentle moan escaped her lips. Then she froze.

This blanket smelled familiar.  She buried her face in the fabric, willing back tears until she knew the markings around her eyes had ceased to flare up. Then she opened her eyes.

"Well, well, well. Welcome back to the land of the living."

She let out a breath. He hadn't even known she was alive. And he'd found her.

How the hell did she deserve his compassion- what had she done to deserve his love?

"Thought I'd lost you, you know that? Listen, Quiet... no more risking your life for me. When I thought you were dead... just don't do it again. Got that?"

She shook her head. She'd done what she needed to do. No regrets there.

"OK. We can argue later, but right now you need some actual nutrition. I got IV glucose, and I got one of your protein shakes. It's… fruit-flavored. Allegedly. Pick your poison."

She could survive on only photosynthesis and water for about eight or nine days; after that, she'd grow weak from a lack of calories and micronutrients, her heartbeat slowing. Good for taking the perfect shot. Not so good for walking away afterwards. Her remaining organs could handle a limited intake of liquids by mouth: bone broth, protein powders in flavored soymilk, a mixture of chlorophyll and spirulina and wheatgrass that she sometimes dared unsuspecting soldiers to try shots of just so she could laugh at their look of disgust. Ripping the protein shake from his hands, she sucked it down eagerly, moaning between gulps, until he guided it away from her mouth.

 

"Hey, not too fast. Don't throw up on me or my shit, all right? I just got this dry-cleaned."

Rolling her eyes, she fired off a reply in German: calm down, I know what my body can handle.

Of course, he didn't understand a single syllable. "Kinda sucks, huh? You speak fifteen languages, and the only one of them I can string together a few words in is the one that would start an epidemic if you spoke it."

She smirked at him and held up six fingers: it's sixteen- even though she knew he'd gotten it wrong on purpose just so she could feel superior.

"Here- use this."

He handed over her whiteboard and dry-erase marker, which she twirled before yanking the cap off with her teeth. It felt good to have her voice, or what passed for it, back. (Sure, there were languages other than English available to her, but the actions required for speaking felt like acid on her scarred lungs and throat.)

I have no regrets, she wrote. You matter.

He let out a sigh. "Yeah. Thought you'd say that. Mind telling me how you ended up near the North Pole?"

She wrote in blocky capitals, swiping the board clean with her discarded bra between sentences.

I thought I'd die of dehydration. Then human traffickers. Passing through the desert. They'd let a young girl die- needed a replacement.

Killed them. Took their supplies. Started hunting down their network.

My arms dealer guessed where I was headed. Sold me out for a couple grand.

"Motherfucker. Want me to kill him for you?"

It was tempting. She'd almost forgotten how fucking pretty he was, all rugged lines and corded muscle. Slowly, she nodded.

 

It felt good to have her accept his help. What he didn't understand was why she hadn't come home. Why she hadn't reached out to him.

And yet, at the same time, he knew. People like them didn't have homes.

But he still wanted to be hers.

"Next time you decide there's someone you want dead, let me know. You've covered my back enough to deserve someone on yours."

She hummed a few notes in response, absentmindedly running a hand over her bare breasts, and he glanced away.

 

 men either tended to ogle her openly or stare away with distaste. But Snake... it was adorably chivalrous the way he stared at her only when he thought she wasn't noticing, as if she still had room for shame or modestly, as if she hadn't lured a thousand men and women of all nationalities in with her body before ripping them to screaming shreds. He'd followed her into the showers and actually showered, making a valiant effort at the rejected Olympic sport of "if I ignore my giant boner, maybe you'll ignore my giant boner."

Damn, he'd been packing heat, and he'd actually blushed at the wolf-whistles when she'd casually unlaced her bikini top. She'd been so tempted to make a few jokes in Russian about rocket launchers, even though no one in the audience would have gotten them.

Venom Snake saw her for more than her body. The body that had been used as an object for as long as she could remember.

Used as a pawn against her parents, political prisoners who she'd watched shot in the head as an eighth birthday present; treated as an object at the secret training camp she'd been shipped to, forced to learn how to spy and kill. XOF had remade her into a voiceless thing. The man whose body wasn't his own had known that she wasn't a body, she was a person.

Now, with nowhere to run, she had to admit that her feelings for him were more than just simple attraction or gratitude. In a world where no one could be trusted, she trusted him with all that she was.

Life was probably too short for how much she wanted to ride his brains out- and for once, that wasn't a euphemism for covert assassination.

 

 

 

 


End file.
